


Harold the Magnificent

by DarkPrinceOfClowns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Debauchery, Decadence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, canibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPrinceOfClowns/pseuds/DarkPrinceOfClowns
Summary: In the cold Wastes of the north a dark tremmor ripples the land, and that which once was lost has now resurfaced. A portal has been opened to a strange new land, and Sigvald the Magnificent, always eager to explore new deliriously decadent desires saunters forward into the gate. There he finds a child with eyes like glowing emeralds and hair as black as ravens wings, and his desire for an heir is immediately sparked at the sight of those emerald gems, by his desire to posess such a beautiful treasure for himself.In that moment the wizarding world looses it's humble savior, and it it's place a new hero acends... One darker and more salacious than the realm of Earth has ever seen before... THIS...is the story of Harold the Magnificent, and his rise to power!





	1. Chapter 1.

My dear readers, it is a sordid tale I have to tell. And it is not prudent that everyone shall look upon these pages with imprudence. Nay... Some of you will shield your eyes, and look away in shame. For such a story, such a depraved and horrific tale is the tale of the great Harold the Magnificent. 

As to how it all started, it all began in a small valley, far up north in the Chaos Wastes, wherein the gateways to the very realm of the Chaos Gods themselves were located. The northern wind blew snow and mist up the jagged sides of a mountain as black as the deepest night, and sharp as a dwarf’s axe. 

The story of its origin, of Sigvald the Magnificent, is all but lost to time and in the dark pages of history. And his story, the story of the one who began it all... That is for someone else to tell.   
But on this night... A dark night. A night without moon or stars. A night of discovery, of getting lost and of discovering secrets... This is where it all began. 

* * * 

Sigvald the Magnificent, Geld Prince and lover of all things beautiful and pleasurable, watched as his lands spread out before him. The howling wind, and the snow that glittered in the sun. He was beginning to feel restless again. 

He had just returned from his trips to the far south, but he missed the beauty of his own, dear home...and the luxuries that you could find nowhere in the world but in his very own home, The Gilded Palace. And yet it now seemed boring, dull. He had done it all before. He had travelled the world, and everywhere he went was the same dull pleasures. Humans, elves, dwarfs...they were all the same. Nobody had any imagination anymore! It frustrated him! 

As he stared out over the Chaotic Wastes, he made a decision. A decision that would change the very course of history itself! 

He would explore the northernmost reaches. The dark, volcanic mountains, so close to the realm of the gods, where no man had ever walked before. Where no man had ever thread. His heart began to beat faster from just thinking about it! 

And so, it was that Sigvald came to discover a strange and mysterious rift in the very fabric of the universe. And the thought of new worlds and unseen things excited him! He became enthralled by the possibilities. Shook to the very core of his soul at the idea that maybe, just maybe there would be something new, something enthrallingly beautiful and exciting, still left to see! 

And thus Sigvald, with his patron’s blessings and promise of keeping the gateway open, began to gather those closest to him, and those more...passable as humans...as his patron had warned him against bringing anyone who could not pass for humans to this new world...and he started out on his most grand adventure yet! 

THIS is the story of the rise of Harold the Magnificent, in all its depraved glory! 

* * * 

"I want to see how the commoners in this modern era live," Sigvald decided one day. 

It took quite some time before this actually happened, however. Because Sigvald would not be caught dead wearing something that was considered detrimental to his beauty or social standing. Which meant he had to research what exactly to wear. 

This was apparently a quite broad subject that the different authors had very different opinions on. 

But after having travelled to what appeared to be the only large city in this cold and icy country they had emerged in, he found some British tourists that were very clearly rich and cultured, and that claimed that Anderson & Sheppard in London was the only way to go. They also wondered if he was going to a gaming convention, seeing as he was still wearing his rather skimpy, yet efficient, if gilded armour. It was probably for the best that they never realised his sword was real and quite sharp. 

Naturally, he refused to wear anything less than the best, and thusly ended up spending the better part of the day working with the tailors at Anderson & Sheppard in London, as they were apparently the best. It was a good thing that his armour perfectly clings to his body as it did because Sigvald refused to risk taking it off and thereby making himself vulnerable to acquiring some kind of wound that might actually leave a scar. He shuddered at the mere thought. 

Once he had gotten set up in London, someone decided to introduce this...caveman from Iceland – had he lived under a rock? – to the wonders of smartphones and the internet.   
Needless to say, Sigvald was obsessed! 

The internet had an information overload on fashion...then he discovered YouTube...let’s just say that he was lost to the world for the next few days. 

That was when he headed out to Surrey, mostly at a whim, partly because he overheard someone talking about the place as a beautiful neighbourhood, filled with lovely people.   
Sigvald was sorely disappointed when he got there though. He decided to never listen to peasants again. 

* * * 

It was a lovely summer day when Prince Sigvald first set foot in Private Drive, Surrey. 

It should come as no surprise that he had chosen to hire a limousine to get out there, but because it was such a lovely day, he opted for walking, ensuring the driver that he would call him with his brand new, top-notch smartphone when he wanted to be picked up again. 

Considering that he paid the driver to wait for him, that suited the driver perfectly fine, seeing as it gave him time off from work for the time the Prince was gone. Besides, that hunchbacked servant of his gave him the creeps. Who dressed on hooded robes nowadays anyway? Must be one of the fantasy fans he'd heard about. Weirdos, the lot of them. 

Sigvald and Oddrún were strolling through what turned out to be a mediocre and boring neighbourhood that surrounded Private Drive. Sigvald felt terribly disappointed. The clothes people wore!   
Atrocious! He felt disgusted with himself for listening to the advice of peasants. He really should have known better. 

Such was his mindset when he came across a strange and unusual sight in this place made up of boredom and conformity. 

At first, he was repulsed by the messy hair and the disgustingly ugly, horribly oversized clothes... But then he looked closer. 

The child had the most beautiful emerald green eyes Sigvald had ever seen, and his heart fluttered with joy. He simply MUST have this child! Those emeralds belonged to him! They reminded him of the pleasant valley that his old patron, Belus Pül, and its emerald green grass, but with the same glow in them as the violet gemstone in the centre exuded. A sublime beauty. 

"I want that child!" Sigvald told his advisor, "Oddrún, I must have him! He would be the perfect addition to my Court! Look at those eyes! Have you ever seen such sparkling gems of beauty! How rare! How unique! How exquisite!" Sigvald spoke animatedly in his excitement, and there was no room to even consider having his desire denied. 

"But my Prince... His parents..." Oddrún tried to weakly argue.   
He really didn't want to take a child away from his parents, even if they were so poor that the child had to work tending to another people's garden. 

"Nonsense. Who wouldn't want a better life for their child? He is clearly poor, just look at his clothes!" Sigvald grinned. "Besides... I am quite sure I could raise such a beautiful child far better than some peasants!" Sigvald nodded to himself as if approving of his own words and logic. 

"But my Prince... A child needs parents..." He again tried to reason with him, as careful as he could to avoid invoking his ire. 

"Then I'll be his...his...What do children have again? Ah, yes. Father. I'll be his father! My wife would love having a child, she still mourns the fact that she is unable to have one." And then he muttered under his breath. "I'll do a better job than my own father, that's for sure." 

"Yes, my Prince." The advisor sighed, realising the battle was lost. At least the child would be clothed and fed, he comforted himself with. It would be a better life than someone that poor could hope to get if they had to toil away their entire life, no matter how rotten they'd become on the inside as a result. 

"Hello, child." Sigvald smiled charmingly to Harry. "I am to be your new father. Where are your parents? I need to tell them the wonderful news!" 

* * * 

Harry was out tending to his aunt’s garden like he did every day in summer when someone new came strolling through the neighbourhood. 

He almost gaped at the sight; The best-looking, handsome man he had ever seen, his long silken blond hair streamed down his back, and his clothes looked extremely expensive, even to someone who knew nothing about it. The man looked no older than 16 for that matter. Neither feminine nor overly masculine, though he clearly saw it was a boy. 

He couldn't help but stare at the vision of beauty, thinking he must surely be a fairy-tale prince. Oh! Maybe he WAS the Prince! 

He'd overheard the Queen's speeches on Christmas from his cupboard of course, and some of the other kids talked about fairy-tale, even if he was never allowed to read them himself. He had secretly listened to two girls that talked about a Prince Charming in some movie they had seen. 

He always wondered if such amazing and kind people really existed in real life. He once stole a peek at the book Dudley had, and there was a lot of handsome, beautiful Princes and Princesses in them. And their parents were always Kings and Queens so it would make sense that if the Queen had a child like him, he'd be a prince. Harry felt blessed by merely looking at him as if his beauty soothed his heart in a strange way he'd never felt. 

Then he got the biggest surprise in his life: The beautiful fairy-tale prince told him he was to be his father! It was just like in a fairy-tale! 

Harry remembered some of them if vaguely. He'd always, ALWAYS hoped and wished that somehow his real parents weren't – indeed – drunkards who died in a car accident, but someone tremendous and beautiful and that they'd come and save him from the Dursley's someday. 

He had been slowly losing hope after several years of desperate hoping and wishing, but now it had finally happened! Harry stared at the man in shock. 

"You mean my aunt and uncle? Are you my REAL daddy? I KNEW they were lying! They told me my mommy and daddy were dead, but I didn't want to believe them!" 

Tears of joy welled up in his eyes, and he ran to hug Sigvald. 

Sigvald made a face at being touched by such a dirty child and felt a deep need to wash, but it wouldn't help his plan any. He decided that if this child wanted to believe he was his Father so much, then he'd let him. 

"Ehrm, yes, naturally," Sigvald said, before patting his head in a condescendingly comforting manner. "There, there."   
He was wholly uncomfortable with the situation, and had no idea how to comfort someone. 

"Oddrún!" He pried the child away from him. "Get some toys and candy for the child!" He commanded. He would have to show the child the more pleasurable things in life at a later point. First, he had to tell his caretakers, and then he needed to get him cleaned up. 

"On second thought, take the child and get him cleaned up and fitted with new clothes. Then take him to the marked – or whatever they have here – and buy him whatever he wants!" Sigvald said, pushing the child over to the slightly scary, hunchbacked man draped in a dark cloak. 

"Yes, my Prince." The chancellor said with a bow. "Come here, child. We mustn't let the Geld Prince wait." 

Oddrùn gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry was a bit hesitant to go with this strange and scary man, but it seemed his daddy trusted him. So he kept a suspicious eye at him but followed him nonetheless. 

"Is he...is he really a Prince?" Harry asked with big eyes, looking back at the divinely handsome man, then he felt silly for asking. 

Of course, he was a prince. What else could he be? Unless he was a god of some kind! Harry almost gasped at the thought. Could he be?! 

"He is the Geld Prince Sigvald. The favoured Champion of Slaanesh." 

Oddrun spoke in short, clipped sentences, but with finality to his words that left no room for doubt. Then he looked at the child, feeling a bit unsure how to follow his Prince's orders. 

He was entirely unfamiliar with the modern age, he hadn't left the Prince's side in ages, and Sigvald had only recently chosen to move to this strange, new world, having been bored with his old world.   
Thus, when he found references to other worlds, naturally he had desired to see them for himself. 

But while Sigvald loved to explore new things, Oddrún lived only to serve his Prince. 

Harry, however, gasped in shock. A champion! That was a hero, wasn't it?! His real father was every bit as amazing as he had ever imagined and then some! He didn't know who this...Slaa-something was, but he must be some incredibly impressive leader, or maybe even a god! His childish imagination ran wild with the possibilities. 

"Where is the public bathhouse?" Oddrun inquired, intended on following Sigvalds orders to get the child cleaned up. 

"Bathhouse...?" Harry just looked at him in confusion. 

Harry wondered if he meant the swimming pool, but he didn't know where it was. His aunt and uncle never took him anywhere if they could avoid it. 

But his father had told his servant that he wanted him to be cleaned up, and Harry looked down at himself, blushing with shame. He hadn't been allowed to shower for so long, his hair was itching, and he was dirty from working in the garden all day. 

"I...I don't know." Harry muttered embarrassed, and Oddrún withheld a sigh. This was not going to be easy... 

Oddrun took Harry with him into the nearest establishment that he could find that promised 'Beauty and Relaxation' and had a pretty nice picture of a steaming hot bathtub. He surmised this might be as good as any place to begin. 

* * * 

By the time Harry had been bathed, by a strange woman that Oddrún had somehow called over to help 'the young heir' to bathe in his rose-scented room, Sigvald had finally arrived. He brought with him some papers that apparently legally transferred all the custody of Harry to him. 

"Ah, Oddrun. Child..." He peered at the papers and scrunched up his nose. "Harry... Such an unfitting name for my heir."   
He stared at the child with his own hauntingly beautiful sapphire eyes. 

"I will name you Harold. Yes! Harold is a royal name, worn by many kings. Much more fitting, wouldn't you agree?" 

He smiled down at the boy and Harry...Harold...couldn't help but nod. 

Was his name Harry? He had never heard his uncle and aunt refer to him as anything but 'freak' or 'boy'. He liked Harold. It sounded very similar to Sigvald, which was his father's name. He smiled. 

"I see you decided to take him to a Spa. What a wonderful idea!" Sigvald tapped the reception desk twice to get the attention of the person working there. "Full treatments for both my son and me! The whole pack! Especially whatever you have of beauty-treatments," he commanded, and the small town Spa owner looked like she had suddenly gotten a treasure chest dropped in her lap.

"That...would be quite expensive..." she felt obligated to inform him, but Sigvant just laughed. 

"Money is of no concern," he told her and smiled charmingly, making her blush and feel like a schoolgirl with a new crush. 

She decided to get her very best employees to work with them. Even if she had to call one back from a holiday, and the other from a previously booked session. This was apparently someone she couldn't afford to lose! Especially if they might come back! 

"In the meanwhile, Oddrún, buy the child some more appropriate clothes. I will take him to my tailor as soon as we're done here. Arrange it!" Sigvald commanded, before urging Harold to follow the lovely lady to be pampered. 

The newly named Harold followed tentatively after the woman, but he figured that whatever they did in a place like this... it sounded nice. 

The bath has been fantastic, and his hair felt smooth and silky and didn't itch at all anymore. He decided that he loved his daddy, who was so incredibly nice to him. 

That was when he suddenly got the most horrible feeling that it was all a dream, or that somehow it would all disappear at midnight, like in the fairy-tale, and he'd be back in the cupboard again. This thought brought tears to his eyes. 

"What's wrong kid?" The masseuse he was with asked him as she led him to the room they were to use. 

"It's just... My dad is so nice! What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm just dreaming, and tomorrow I'll wake up in the cupboard, and my uncle will yell at me for burning the food again?" Harold sobbed as the woman patted his back. 

"Don't worry, kid. I don't know why your dad wasn't there, but he's making up for it now, right? Is he in the army?" 

She thought that maybe he had been stationed abroad and couldn't get back and the kid's mother died or something. Though the way the child flinched, as well as the bruises she could see on his arms, made alarm bells go off in her head, and she was even more happy that the kid's father had come for him. 

"Who's your uncle and aunt?" She asked carefully. She would damned well report them to the cops for child-abuse. Maybe they were druggies or something? She sneered at the thought. 

"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Um... Dursley," Harold shyly answered, the fear of them evident in his voice, which she considered further proof. 

Those snotty people in number 4 Private Drive? She disliked them. They always acted as if they were so much better than everyone else, and Petunia always haggled at the price whenever she came by. Oh, how her friends would LOVE to hear about this! 

"Don't worry about it, kid. Just take off your shirt and lay down on the bench here." She tapped the massage bench. "I'll put on some nice, relaxing music, and you'll feel so much better afterwards, I promised." 

She smiled down at the kid. It was the least she could do for him. 

"Okay." Harold smiled weakly up her and went to do as she said, even if he was still a bit worried. But she seemed like a nice person... 

* * * 

The newly named Harold smiled as he tried to keep up with his father. He had never felt this good in his entire life! He couldn't remember the last time he had been this clean either. On top of that, he had clothes that actually fit him now! 

Harold was over the moon with joy, and even if he suddenly felt a pang of hunger as they passed by a restaurant, he really didn't want to impose on the kindness of his father, after he'd give him so many lovely things. 

However, as his stomach rumbled, Sigvald stopped in his tracks to look at him, and Harold suddenly felt like shrinking away in shame, convinced he had done something horribly wrong, even if he couldn't help it. 

"I'm sorry," Harold chocked out in a low voice, bracing himself for the punishment. A punishment...that never came. 

"What was that sound you made?" Sigvald said, looking confused. 

He had heard the strangest sound coming from the kid, but he couldn't for the life of him place it. 

"My Prince... I think he's hungry," Oddrún explained. "That was his stomach rumbling." 

He held back a sigh at the fact that he had to clarify it. He supposed the Geld Prince would no longer remember such things. It stood to reason that living a life of excess made him unfamiliar with signs of hunger. 

"Well, why didn't you say anything? Honestly!" Sigvald shook his head in bafflement and pulled out his phone to find a place to eat. "I wonder if there is any place in this town that has a proper feast. You must be starving!" Sigvald sounded appealed at the very notion of such a thing were even possible. Especially for his new son and heir! 

Harold looked at him with wide eyes. 

Was he supposed to tell him that he was hungry? He was going to give him food? Him, the freak, the worthless waste of space that was named Harry...he suddenly felt a deep disdain for that name.   
Harry was the friendless freak. Harry was the kid that was bullied in school, and that was worth nothing. He refused to be Harry anymore! 

His father had named him Harold. 

Harold was someone who got scented baths. Who got nice body treatments and good food! Harold got everything he wanted, his father said so! ...Right...?

With determination in his eyes, he decided to test his theory, and he looked around him and saw a stuffed teddy-bear sitting on a shelf in the bookstore next to them. 

"Father, I want that bear!" 

Harold tried to keep a brave, stubborn face when his father turned to look at him, expecting any moment to be smacked for his insolence. Instead, his father smiled at him, and suddenly Harry – Harold! – felt better. 

"You heard him, Oddrún. He wants the bear," Sigvald demanded with finality. 

Oddrún hid an amused smile in the folds of his hooded robe at the stubbornly testing voice, and the small quiver of fear in the child's voice. 

He was beginning to be happy they had taken the child in. It was looking more and more like the child had been abused, rather than being poor. Oddrún felt terrible for the kid. 

Sigvald might have forgotten how to feel empathy, but Oddrún never did. The awed, bright smile that lit up the child's face with joy also helped. Oddrún felt his heart melt a little more for this child. He wondered if that beautiful innocence would be able to help his prince regain some of his humanity, or if the rot that infested the soul of his childhood friend would spread, and corrupt the boy as well.   
Harold didn't understand all of this, however. All he knew was that he had demanded – not even asked, demanded! – something, and got it! 

It was just like Dudley demanding a toy, and his mom and dad always, ALWAYS gave in. 

Maybe it's a parent thing? Harold hugged his bear and then hugged his dad. 

Was this what having a dad meant? Did all parents do this? Maybe the reason for why he never got anything was that he didn't have a dad. 

But now he did! And his dad gave him whatever he pointed at, too! He had always been envious of Dudley and wondered what it must be like to get everything. And now he knew how it felt. It was amazing! And, Harold realised, he wanted MORE!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold gets a taste of the good life...and learns a few things about his new possition in life.

When Arabella Figg watched a handsome young man walk up and talk to Harry Potter, before stepping up to the Dursley's, she thought nothing of it. Other than a quick wish that she was young and beautiful again so she could snatch him up, of course.

But the Dursley's were very social folks, and while the man looked nothing like anyone she knew, it didn't mean he wasn't some hotshot from the company Petunia's husband worked in or something. Or a cosmetics sales rep. At any rate, she was at that point far more worried about whistling of her tea can, than of watching what happened next, and thus she completely missed how Harry walked away with the robed and hooded stranger, whom...while strange...looked nothing like a wizard and more like a muggle pretending to be in Star Wars or something.  
By the time she got back from making her tea, there was no sight of the robed stranger or the boy, but she assumed that Harry had been called in to prepare food for their visitor. She knew the Dursley's made him cook, even if she didn't like it. It wasn't right. But Dumbledore had convinced her that it was for the best, that it was the only place he would be appropriately protected, and they really were his only family.

Besides... What could she do? The Dursley's were, on the outside, an upstanding family, and she was just an old lady. And to the wizarding world, she was of no value as a squib. Who would listen to her anyway? She sighed and sipped at her tea. She just hoped they weren't too mean to the boy.

* * *

Harold sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair and stared at the massive amount of cutlery in front of him. He felt on the verge of tears as he tried to pick the right one to eat with, worried about being yelled at if he chose the wrong one. And the scent of the food drove him crazy as he tried hard to decide.

"What's wrong, son? You don't like this dish? We'll get you a different one!" Sigvald said, placing his fork down and patting his lips with the napkin, before placing it back over his shoulder.*

"No, no!" Harold said quickly before his father could summon those scary waiters again.* "I just...don’t know which fork to use..." Harold blushed as his voice trailed off. He didn't feel any better when his father laughed heartily at him.

"If you're that worried, I'll hire you the best tutor in England! But for now, just use whichever fork you want. The basic rule is to start from the outside and go towards the plate with each dish, and the ones above the plate are for dessert." Sigvald smiled at his new child and heir. If he had known how fun raising a kid would be, he would have acquired one ages ago.

"Thanks, father."

Harold smiled. He wasn't sure if he should call his father dad or not, but Sigvald was a prince, so he figured he should use father. It sounded fancy and posh by comparison. He straightened up in his seat and decided that he would just copy his father. His father always did everything right! He was sure of it! 

So when his father took a sip of his wine, Harold took a sip of his coke, trying to put on the same casually arrogant behaviour and facial expression as his father. Which made his father laugh and pat his head. Harold felt that warm glow in his chest mingles with the embarrassing flush in his cheeks, and he decided that it was a good feeling. He was warm and happy and had more food than he could possibly want, even if the portion on his plate was tiny. The waiters kept replacing them with yet another new, interesting, strange or tasty dish, and Harold wondered if it would ever end. It were so many new things he experienced!

Sigvald grinned at the obvious joy – and sometimes disgust – that fluttered across his son's face whenever he sceptically tasted the latest dish that was put in front of them. In a way, it was almost like re-discovering all the pleasurable, interesting and exciting sensations himself, all over again. He might not be able to feel those things himself anymore, but he took great pleasure in the joy that so many parents fall prey to; Living vivaciously through their children. He could hardly wait to show his son the more extreme pleasures of the world! His head was already spinning with half-laid plans as to what he should teach him first...

Sigvald smiled as he watched his son's reactions and enjoyment, and he kept ordering new dishes until Harold couldn't do anything but stare at the food with a pained look on his face. He didn't want to be rude, but if he ate a single bit more, he was sure he would explode! He pushed the plate away with an apologetic look and thanked his father for the yummy food, hoping he didn't seem too ungrateful.  
Sigvald had the waiters take away the food, and serve them another round of drinks... Coke for Harold and wine for himself and Oddrún. Then he pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it out towards Harold, not letting it go quite yet, however. He opened it to reveal a gold ring with what looked like some kind of a weapon-shield inscribed in a red coloured gemstone.

"Harold... Son. This ring has our family's crest on it. It is a ring that is passed down from father to son, marking you as my official heir." Sigvald smiled at him, appearing perfectly honest in his every gesture. "I want you to have this ring, as a symbol of this glorious day, when you become my son. Take good care of it. Treasure it."

Harold reached out for the ring with awe and reverence. His eyes filled with tears as he realised that his father was welcoming him into his family in an official, royal kind of way. He didn't fully understand it, but he had never felt so accepted before in his life. His father wanted him. He loved him. He made him his official heir... Which Harold supposed was grown-up talk for son or something. But still... It was really an overwhelming feeling of belonging. Something he had longed for his entire life. And now he finally, finally had it! A place he belonged...

"Thank you, father! I'll treasure it! I promise!" Harold said and tried to place it on his hand, only to realise it was entirely too big for him. Sigvald chuckled, and picked up a semi-thick golden chain from the box, before taking the ring and sliding it onto it.

"Better wear it around your neck until you get older," Sigvald said, getting up to fasten it around his new son's neck. He had his own reasons for giving this to his son, but it would work all the much better if he didn't tell him. He'd figure it out himself soon enough.

"There may come a day that you will need it, son. Make sure you keep it safe." Sigvald went back to sit down and raised his hand to call for a waiter. In the meanwhile, Harold lifted the ring up to his face to admire it. He loved it already. He wondered what his father meant with him needing it one day, but it was far more important to him what it represented; His father's love and acceptance.

* * *

By the time they headed home...or to the hotel they were staying at while in London, Oddrún was overloaded with bags and packages from the myriads of stores they had visited. It was a good thing that he was both tall and extremely strong, even if he usually hunched over and didn't use the full reach of his arms, or show his strength. 

Once Harold had firmly understood that he could have anything he wanted, he decided to test his limits, as all children are apt to do. As it turned out; Several malls, hundreds of toys, a fantastic trip through Harrods, and a few boring high-end clothing stores later, and Harold contemplated the option that maybe there didn't exist any limits. He decided to test this theory.

"Father, I want a dragon!" Harold proclaimed, expecting to be shut down and laughed at. Instead, Sigvald merely smiled at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I'll send someone to get one for you as soon as we reach the palace." Sigvald grinned. He was reasonably sure that Harold didn't even know dragons were real, and the look of shock and amazement on his face was well worth the time and effort it would take to capture one.

"Dragons are REAL?!" Harold almost squealed. "Oh, thank you, daddy!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Harold threw himself at his father in a hug, any attempts of composing himself as a grownup went straight out the window in his excitement.

It wasn't just that his father would get him absolutely anything...it was that his father told him that something more, something amazing and beautiful and magical really existed.

“Father..." Harold hesitated, still remembering the Dursley's reaction to the subject, but he pulled together all the courage his little body could hold and asked anyway. "Is magic real too?"  
He braced himself for the answer. For the let-down. For the verbal abuse. Or the laughter. What he did not prepare for was his father's simple, honest sounding answer.

"Of course it does." Sigvald looked at his son in confusion. Was that not common knowledge in this world? He decided to speak to Enka about this later. He had sent him off to learn about the type of magic they used here, so he could counter it, or learn it for himself. New skills were always valuable, and Enka was his best sorcerer after all. But he hadn't expected that the ordinary people didn't even believe it existed.

* * *

Harold leaned his head back as he stared up at the tall, luxurious building. 'Rubens Hotel'* was written in large golden letters above the entrance. He followed tentatively after his father. Despite his new, fancy clothes, he felt like he didn't belong here. He grabbed his father's hand and clung to it, looking around the splendour of the century-old luxury hotel, halfway expecting to be kicked out. 

What he didn't expect was to see the staff bowing to them...or rather, to his father. He knew his father was a Prince, but what exactly that meant had not yet sunk in. He hid behind his father as he approached the reception desk, and how the staff rushed to get the manager. It was evident that everyone knew he was someone special.

"Ah, Hello again, Gerald."* Sigvald smiled generously at the manager.

"Your royal highness. So good to see you again. What may I help you with today?" The manager asked, looking flattered that Sigvald had remembered his name.

"I've just picked up my son." Sigvald pulled Harold out from behind him, much to the horror of Harold. "I think he should get his own key, just in case," Sigvald said with a grin.

"Of course, my lord. Boys will be boys, and prone to explore. Just one moment."

The manager snapped his fingers at one of the receptionists, and she immediately ran off to fetch the duplicate keys. Sigvald's family had been coming to their hotel almost since it was created, and they always rented the same rooms....the entire top floor, in fact. So the hotel had made sure to have enough keys for the Prince and his staff. Although this was the first time, or so rumour had it, that a child had been brought with the royal family. 

The manager wasn't entirely sure where exactly the royal family was from, all they ever said was 'up north', which made him think they might be from Norway....or did Iceland have royalty? He wasn't quite sure. Never the less, he felt blessed at the honour bestowed upon him to have the Prince's heir presented to him.

He noticed the poor child looked absolutely terrified. He was a bit young. Maybe this was the very first time he had left his country. He hoped the child could speak English and decided it was his duty to put the child at ease and ensure them both that the service of the hotel was first class, for the children as well as the adults.

"Hello, your highness," Gerald spoke softly to the child. "Welcome to the Rubens. If there is anything at all you want, just ask any of the staff, and they'll get it for you, okay?"

Gerald smiled at Harold, bowing down a bit to get down to the child's level. He seemed to be a bit shy, but he supposed a prince would be very isolated until he got older... The Royals could never be too careful with their children and all that. And then there were the media... He already felt a bit sorry for the child, even if he was born into a very privileged class, it came with many responsibilities that other children didn't have.

"Hello..." Harold said, still clinging to his father's hand, looking awestruck upon the stranger.

He was not used to people being this nice to him. Aunt Petunia was always telling the neighbours horrible things about him, things that weren't even true, and as a result, the neighbours always looked at him with suspicion, and most certainly wouldn't have offered to give him anything!

"My name is Gerald. If you have any problems...anything at all, just ask one of the staff to come get me." Gerald smiled gently at the young Prince, and Harold had to work hard to hold back tears at how kind this stranger was to him.

"Okay! I promise! Thank you!" Harold rushed to hug him, and Gerald looked at Sigvald in shock. Sigvald only chuckled.

"I'm afraid he's still very affectionate. His mother had an unfortunate accident and passed away, and he was sent off to some relatives that didn't treat him very well while I was away for my military education. I only just managed to find him. I do hope people will cut him some slack as far as social rules go until I can get him a good tutor," Sigvald lied with ease and ruffled his son's hair affectionately.

"Of course your royal highness." Gerald made a small bow in acknowledgement. "If I may make a suggestion..." He waited until Sigvald nodded his head to continue. "We have a few people on staff that would be able to train the young Prince in basic etiquette. It's...not a part of their regular work, but I think they would be most sympathetic to his past, and more than delighted to meet someone of your standing and stature, your royal highness." Gerald said, hoping he wasn't too forward with the Prince. But he truly wanted to help.

"Wonderful idea!" Sigvald grinned widely. "See that it is done!"

He dismissed the man to his duties and pulled his son with him towards the elevators. He did have the entire top floor, and while he had only brought the more human looking servants with him... Oddrún aside... there was still so many people and quite a few rooms for his new son to explore and get to know.

* * *

"Harold rubbed his eyes and smiled to himself as he sighed happily and curled his hand around the silky blanket and felt the soft bed curve under him, making him feel like he was sleeping on a cloud, with another cloud for his duvet.

He had been worried that he would wake up, and it would have all been a dream, and he was back in that horrid closet with his uncle yelling at him... He shuddered. He had woken up from nightmares about being back in his closet a few times during the night, but the soft laughter and music, and the smell of exotic incense that drifted into his room from the myriads of other rooms soothed his fears right away. 

He spread his hands wide. Even in the darkness he could feel that he wasn't in his closet, and the soft bed assuaged the rest of his fears, and he had drifted back into sleep with a smile on his face.  
He didn't want to ever get up tho. This bed was comfy. Way comfy. And he had his bear! He hugged his teddy closer. He loved the bear. To him, it represented a form of freedom and love that he never had before experienced but always dreamed of having. It was the proof that his dad really would give him what he asked and his first taste of power and control. He loved it!

A soft knock on the door startled him out of his thought, and he stared at the door, unsure what to do. He wasn't used to even having a door, much less having people respect his privacy. He tried to remember how ordinary people reacted to knocks on the door.

"Yes?" He tried to say, tentatively.

Unsure if he should have gotten up and opened it or not. A young woman in an exotic looking, skimpy dress with a split in the sides that went all the way up to show her thighs came in, carrying a tray of food.

"Young Master, the Prince said you should have some food and wake up. He is talking about returning home soon, and there is still some shopping left for you to do before you leave."  
She placed the tray in front of him on the bed and helped him sit up, fluffing the pillows behind his back with a practised hand. Harold blushed at the attention, not quite sure what to say.  
"Um, thank you," he decided on saying.

It seemed safe enough to say, and he really was grateful...and a bit surprised. He was used to having to cook the food, and only ever getting leftovers and scraps...or nothing at all. To be served on the bed like a fairytale prince or something... Then he suddenly grinned. But he was a prince now! He remembered the conversation he had with his father before he went to bed, and he remembered his father trying to teach him about all his new privileges. He decided to try it out.

"You may leave, servant." He said with his best impression of arrogance. It wasn't perfect, but it looked absolutely adorable, and the girl couldn't help but hide a small smile.  
"Of course, your highness. I will come back in half an hour to help you with your bath." She bowed and left him to eat his breakfast.

Harold grinned in pure joy. It worked! It actually worked! She obeyed him! Just like that! He marvelled at how easy it had been. He just told her to do something, and she did it! His stomach chose that time to rumble and cut short his train of thought, and remind him that he was actually pretty hungry, something he had forgotten about in his elation and what may well be one of his very first power trips.

When he was done eating, the servant girl came back, and he was forced to suffer through the embarrassing experience of being bathed and dressed by a girl! He was blushing hard through the entire experience.

* * *

"Harold! Come here and have some food, son." Sigvald grinned at the thought of having a son. It was a new experience for him, and he was growing more and more fond of it with every amusing thing his new son did.

"Thank you...father." Harold tried hard to remember how the posh people on the telly acted and spoke. He didn't want to disappoint his dad...father he corrected himself... who was a Prince, of all things!  
"Here, try some wine! The food is nothing special today, but I ordered a bit of everything for you to try." He poured his son a glass of wine and waited to see his reaction. He laughed as Harold wrinkled his nose.

"Yuck!" Harold proclaimed. The red wine was bitter and just...not good! He quickly looked at his father, a mortified expression on his face. He was getting all the food and...drink...things...he could ever want, and he suddenly felt very ungrateful for rejecting it. "I'm sorry..." He said, bowing his head.

“Whatever for?" Sigvald said, confused.

"I'm sorry I don't like the wine. I'm really grateful! I promise!" He said and grabbed the glass to take another sip, trying to not scrunch his face up in disgust. Sigvald sighed and pulled the glass away from him.

"Harold... Never be sorry for not liking something. You've every right to like or dislike whatever you want." Sigvald reached for the honey. "Some pleasures are acquired. The trick..." Sigvald mixed a spoonful of honey in a small bit of water, before mixing that into the wine. "...is to make the transition a pleasant experience." He pushed the glass with the new mix towards Harold. "Try it now." He said and smiled. Harold took a new sip of the wine, now mixed with honey.

"It tastes like weird berry juice!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows raising in surprise. It was sweet, and the bad taste, like ashes, was gone. This was something he could learn to like! It was weird...but...not bad. He took another sip before studying the table, trying to decide what to try first.

If this was 'nothing much' then he wondered what his father considered to be something special...

The whole table was lined with enough food to feed a small village, and all of it looked really expensive. The serving plates looked like they were gold, as did the cutlery, while his plate was black with a gold leaf pattern on it. It made Harold very, very scared of breaking something. Everything looked so expensive.

He reached for the bread. Bread was safe. And subconsciously he still didn't feel he was worthy of anything nicer. He moaned as he bit into it. The bread was clearly newly made, and still warm. The butter practically melted on it...and it was weird butter. It had little green things in it and didn't taste anything like regular butter, but it was so yummy!

Sigvald watched him with a chuckle. He couldn't remember when he enjoyed this kind of meal himself, but he felt almost as if he was enjoying it for the first time all over again, through watching his...son...enjoy it. There was just something so fascinating about the innocence of this child, and his entirely sincere actions. And he almost itched to show him every pleasure life had to offer. Oh! He was so excited! Where should he begin!?

"Here. Try one of these. This is oxtail soup." Sigvald placed a brown piece of meat on Harold's plate, and he cut a bit off it, staring at it sceptically. A tail? Of an ox? He'd only ever seen one in a cartoon, it was smelling a flower and seemed like a nice ox...before his uncle made him go to his cupboard. It seemed a bit wrong to eat his tail tho... Poor ox... But he didn't want to disappoint his father, so he closed his eyes and chewed.

"Wow...! Yummy!" Harold said and quickly cut another piece. Maybe it was wrong, but the ox had already lost its tail. Would it really be so bad if he ate it? It was soooo yummy!! He vaguely wondered what a tailless ox looked like, and if it hurt when his tail was chopped off. Maybe it was like surgery? He knew people were given something that made it not hurt. Perhaps they did that with oxen too? He decided that, regardless of how the ox lost its tail, it still tasted incredibly yummy, and it couldn't be all that wrong if his perfect, amazing dad, who also was a Prince, and therefore wise and just, approved of it.

Content with that logic, Harold decided to enjoy as many of the different dishes as he could stomach, letting go of any guilt and discomforting thoughts about how the various animals met their demise.

* * *

The breakfast...if one could call it that...dragged on for more than an hour before his father finally decided it was done, and called for the servants to clean it up.

"Come on, son. It's time you meet some of the more...human...of our subjects." Sigvald smiled as he placed a hand on his son's back and guided him towards the other rooms. The strange, sweet smell permeated the air, and the sound of ethereal, exotic music grew stronger with every step. 

As they came close to the door, the sound of joyful laughter danced through the air. And when he opened the door, a sickly sweet smell slithered its way to his nostrils and intermingled with other, heavy, spicy scents. A haze of smoke seemed to blanket the room, making him feel lightheaded, as he watched strange people in the most creative costumes dance ecstatically around, swivelling in and out of the various connected rooms.

The costumes reminded him vaguely of some of the paintings he had seen when his aunt had dragged the whole family to an art museum so they could look cultured. The voluptuous dresses were opulent, and the gilded masks covered in gems and sometimes feathers. They covered the entire face of some of them, while others merely had decorative masks, or non at all. For a moment, Harold thought he saw a glimmer of scales when one woman's gloves slid down as she reached over for the grapes. But he decided it must have been an illusion in the dim, red-ish lighting that permeated the room and created a strangely magical atmosphere, encasing the rooms, and making him feel as if he left reality behind.

Sigvald walked up to the raised platform, on which a throne-like chair of gold and purple were standing, pushing Harold with him up. As he stood up and waited to be noticed, everyone in the room quickly became quiet and turned to look at him. So strong was the presence of Prince Sigvald, and so beloved by his people was he, that he was always in the mind of his people, and when he stood up to make a speech, they all turned to him in silent anticipation.

"My dear friends. I have the most glorious news to share with you on this most prosperous of days!" Sigvald cried and flung his arms open as if to embrace each one of the strange looking assembly surrounding them, the excitement in his voice making everyone murmur in delighted anticipation.

"Behold!" 

He pulled Harold out from behind him and pushed him in front of him, much to the horror of said child.

"My son and heir!"

He shone with delight as the crowd whispered excitedly and clapped their hands together, clearly rejoicing in the fact.

"I know some of you have wished for this moment. Wished and hoped and waited," Sigvald said, clasping his fist over his heart with a pained expression. "Oh, how we all wished for my wife to bear me an heir... But alas... It was not to happen, and a Kingdom needs an heir!" Sigvald declaimed with a proud tilt of his head. "A Prince to be the successor of the Throne! Someone to carry on the proud traditions the Kingdom, should anything happened to me," Sigvald chocked painful at the thought.

The crowd was quick to declare that nothing could possibly ever harm him! He was a god! He was immortal! Perish at the thought!

Sigvald took a deep breath and composed himself again.

"Fear not, my dear friends!" Sigvald exclaimed. "I have no intentions of leaving you. But now the future of the Gilded Palace and it's wonders is secured...for all eternity!" He threw his arms into the air, before placing them on his son's shoulders. "Now rejoice, and welcome your new Prince, as I ascend to an even higher throne. I present to you Prince Harold of the Gilded Palace!" He shouted the last words with his hands spread wide, and the crowd cheered out in elation, before rushing forwards to kneel at their feet.

Harold stared at them in shock, too scared to move, as they grasped for his hand and kissed the ring he got from his dad, proclaiming their loyalty to him and his father. Others kissed his feet, and some women even rubbed against him like pets.

"Father..." Harold whispered, his voice quivering slightly.

Sigvald merely placed his hands on his son's shoulders and whispered in his ear.

"Fear not, my son. Our loyal subjects are merely showing the proper deference that befits a Prince of your standing. Accept their worship with the grace befitting of our royal family." Sigvald told him, a proud smile on his lips.

Harold looked down on the heads bowed in reverence, and the chaotic scrambling as they all fought for his attention, fought to show him their adoration and respect. 

A strange new sensation rose up in Harold's chest, and he felt the warm glow of power. He felt safe and loved in ways he could not even imagine before. He closed his eyes and let the desirous feeling of Power flow through him, and he stood up straight and lifted his chin with pride. Joyful laughter welled up in his chest and slipped past his lips in gleeful giggles. Building up to delightful maniacal laughter, as he begins to pat the heads of the pets, of his new people, whom grovelled before his feel, in a profoundly satisfying display of feeling, for the very first time in his life, as if he was a SOMEONE!

* * *

*Sigvald sometimes uses rules of etiquette that dates back to the Tudor era at times because he still hasn't quite catched up on all the modern world's etiquette. lol  
*Trust me: The first time you go to a fancy restaurant, the solemn and professional atmosphere and the waiters are bloody scary.  
*https://www.rubenshotel.com/  
*I made up the name of the manager tho. No clue what his real name is. lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harold finally travels to the Chaotic Wastes, and finally gets to see his new home. Many surprises awaits him on the way...

The next day was a rush of people and packing.  

Well, to call them people was perhaps a bit generous, although they hid it well in their travelling clothes. Harold had yet to catch a glimpse of something stranger than gleaming of scales, or strangely coloured hair, although he did wonder what had happened to so many of them that had one hand bandaged up with what looked like several thick layers of bandage. Although after glimpsing a hastily covered up hand, sensually shimmering with purple scales, he began to wonder if it really was just bandaging under the top layer of them. 

The packing was mainly done by the servants, while Harold was enjoying a selection of the hotels best food for breakfast before his father took him out to a movie, something he said they wouldn't get the chance to do later.  

Harold wondered where they were going to move. He knew it was out of the country somewhere.  

His father had made sure they enjoyed typical British cuisine, just because it would be tough to come by once they left for home...wherever 'home' was. 

Harold was starting to feel a bit anxious about it all. He had lived in Surrey almost his entire life and had never been any further away from it than London, which was overwhelming enough for a young boy. However, he trusted his Father implicitly. These last days had been the most beautiful days in his life, and it was all thanks to his Father.  

Harold smiled as he watched the youthful Prince sipping a coke and seeming like he was about to have a small orgasm. He carefully hid a smile by taking a sip of his own coke. His Father was the best father ever! He was so nice to him, so wise and knowledgeable about all things. When he was talking to you, you always believed like you were the only person in the room. Harold felt he CARED about him. It brought tears to his eyes when he joyfully thought about it. It was like a fairytale come true. He hoped it would stay like this forever and ever! 

After the movie, and some more shopping, they both went back to the hotel to enjoy the most deliciously divine High Tea menus that the hotel offered. This was enough to make Harold make the same face as his father, as he enjoyed the sinful treats to it's fullest. Oh, how the flavours of the tea complemented the scones and other assorted sweets. And the scones themselves! Freshly baked, delectable flavours of jam and clotted cream intermingling in an orgasmic explosion of taste! 

Harold remembered to thank Slaanesh for the wondrous pleasure the meal brought afterwards. Just like his Father had taught him to. And the way his Father beamed with pride at him every time he did only make him more determined to learn about his new god, the one that his Father said was every bit as real as you and me. One that you could see and feel the results of and some people had even met!  

Harold had felt very unsure about this all, but he decided to treat it as if he had somehow stumbled into a strange, magical fairytale. He wouldn't be surprised if talking animals suddenly jumped out and sang a song at this point, it was just all so...unreal. 

But he wished and prayed and hoped that it was genuine and that it would never ever, ever end. 

* * *

If Harold had thought London was the worst chaotic mess of people and sounds he had ever seen, he took his statement back the moment he stepped out of the limousine that brought them to the airport. This was worse. Much worse.  

He was also a bit surprised that his father didn't have some kind of private jet or whatever, like those rich people in his aunt petunia's favourite gossip shows had. 

But his father had explained to him that where he lived, no plains could fly. And they were only going to Iceland by plane, but after that, it would be a few days more with horses...of all things!  

Harold suddenly realised why his father had insisted on those riding lessons for him, even if it was only a few hours spread over a single weekend. Harold hoped that he would be able to hold onto the horse and not fall off and embarrass himself. He didn't think he could take the disappointed look his father might shoot at him if he failed something that came so easy and natural to his father. 

Heathrow was big, scary, and filled with people running every which way, in a cacophony of sounds and noises. Harold suddenly felt very small and very scared, and he clung to his daddy as if his life depended on it. 

He did, however, briefly wonder who the surprisingly small man in their group was. He seemed to command two large creatures that Harold hesitated to call them humans, to move a large box the size of a coffin. But in the noise and stress of the check-in and security check, Harold ended up forgetting all about it. He only spared a brief moment to wonder why he hadn't seen that man until now when he had met everyone else of the Court or the Decadent Host as his father called them. 

The nightmare didn't end when they filed into the plane either, even as the noise of the airport vanished behind them. There were still too many people stuck in a too small space. Although Harold noticed with some relief that his father steered them all into the quieter part of the plane, and he was pretty sure every single person there was a part of his father's court. 

Even if he didn't know more than a handful of them personally. He had seen them all before, that much he was sure of at least. 

But it was only his father's calming voice, and gentle touches that stopped Harold from full out panicking when he felt the plane rises into the air. The weightless feeling of being pushed down into his seat and the sight of the ground disappear beneath them. He refused to think about how high up they were and how bad it would hurt if they fell down. And, and... 

Harold stared at his father with tears in his eyes. Sigvald merely smiled reassuringly and stroke his son's hair with a calming gesture. Harold felt like he could melt into his embrace and stay there forever. With his father, he was safe. He'd never let anything happen to him, Harold kept telling himself that. 

The whole plane went silent as Sigvald rose his deceptively sweet, seductive voice in a strange and unfamiliar lullaby to calm his son's fears. Harold didn't understand the language, but it was beautiful. It slithered like snakes around the cold, harsh words, and yet it drew him in with a sickly sweet comfort. It was terrifyingly beautiful and disturbingly calming, all at the same time. 

It didn't take long before Harold fell asleep, lulled into a deep sleep by the magic of the Black Speech of Chaos, and the hauntingly beautiful hymn to Slaanesh. Sigvald didn't sing often, but he was every bit as skilled in song as he was in every other art-form. The rest of his court soon followed his son and heir into a restful sleep, dreaming of delectably sinful and glorious deeds... 

 

* * *

 

The arrival in Reykjavik and the subsequent trip to the hotel was a sleepy blur for Harold, as he was carried in Oddrún's arms the entire way there... The hunched over creature of a man was surprisingly strong for being so slender and long-limbed. Sigvald could, of course, not be bothered to carry anything at all.  

Not even his own luggage. 

Once they finally arrived, it became apparent that Sigvald had thrown around enough money to feed several small nations for years to come so he could hire the entirety of The Retreat for himself and his Court. Staff and all. 

Harold could hardly believe his eyes as he entered his own quarters, just to realise there was a large pool of steaming hot water right outside the enormous windows that lead to the balcony of his room. If he ever wanted to take a dip in the naturally heated water, all he needed to do was to open the door. 

His father explained to him that it was a part of the Blue Lagoon, that it was apparently a very famous tourist spot... and that Harold did not have to worry about anything, because Sigvald had made absolutely sure nobody else would use it for the time they were staying there. Something about a corrupt minister* combined with enough money to bankrupt England. 

Harold had to admit he wondered what exactly his father had meant when he muttered something about needing to go raiding again when they finally got back home. It didn't sound very nice though, especially when he started mussing about the price of slaves these days as he walked away, so Harold stopped listening. He refused to believe his new, wonderful, kind and amazing dad was anything but perfect. 

He was more than a little excited to jump in and play in the pool, but he was a bit scared as well, since he'd never been in any kind of lake before, and didn't know how to swim. 

It turned out that the water did have a shallow end, and it was marvellous! 

* * *

 

It had been strange to him for the first few days...and it was still a bit weird now... but he was slowly getting used to having someone come in and bath him and dress him when he was done.  

Surprisingly, he decided he actually kind of liked it even if Harold was very insistent that he was more than big enough to dress himself. It was slowly getting less embarrassing that the girl assigned to serve him saw him naked at the very least. His father did encourage him to drop his overdeveloped modesty as well. 

Which was probably the reason because his father had rented the whole damned Blue Lagoon place, to begin with, and proceeded to throw a never-ending pool party. Sigvald proclaimed that there was no need for clothes when you had steaming hot mineral water, good food, fine wine and good company. 

It was hard not to be pulled along with every crazy scheme his father came up with. He was always so passionate and enthusiastic about it. 

 

* * *

 

Harold felt a bit self-conscious at first, but everyone else behaved as if it was perfectly reasonable to be naked around both genders and a few people he was now even more sure weren't entirely human. Much less he knew the gender of. 

It turned out that wine and good company, and several of the younger women that treated both Harold and Sigvald as Roman emperors and fawned over them, even feeding the grapes and honeyed wine, and it had made Harold finally give in and enjoy the hedonistic feeling of the whole party. The wine undoubtedly helped too. 

He was entirely too aware that his father went off with a few people to some of the many huge pillows that were spread out on the ground. And judging by the sounds, he did something that Harold absolutely did not want to know what was!  

But that aside, Harold was having a perfect time. And he decided that if his father lived in this cold, desolated country...maybe it wouldn't be so bad as it looked to him when they flew over it.  

He smiled and took another sip of his honeyed wine and let the two strange looking women hug him and fawn over him, as they fought for his attention. 

He really could get used to this. 

* * *

For the next few days, it was something between a blur of pleasure and confusion, as Harold was being pulled around by Sigvald's Decadent Host, while they insisted on feeding him the most delicious of food, sing, dance, and otherwise entertain the young Prince. 

At the same time, his Father was suddenly very busy with phone calls and meeting a multitude of people, in an attempt to get his hands on more permanent accommodation. Harold was sure he'd heard his yelling about building a castle at some point, while his advisors whimpered in fear, saying something that undoubtedly did not please him. 

Harold felt sorry for his father. It sounded like everyone around him was incompetent morons, if the yelling was any indication. Not that he was entirely sure what 'incompetent' meant, but it must be something terrible. 

He winced as he heard the sound of glass breaking, and the pained whimpered that followed suggested it had been broken over someone's head. 

His father was having a fit again... Poor Father. Surrounded by incompetents. 

 

* * *

It was hard to say how much time had passed when Harold slowly woke up and pushed aside the soft fabric of the high-quality duvets that covered the comfortable king-sized bed.  

The one thing he was sure about though, was that his tummy was growling, and he suddenly realised how used to eating whenever he wanted he had become these last few days... His father always seemed to have food around, even if he wasn't hungry. Just because it was tasty.  

Prince Sigvald did a lot of things just for the pleasure of doing it, and Harold was slowly beginning to adopt that mindset too, if tentatively. But right now, he was still scared about asking for anything from his father as well... He didn't dare to call for him, even tho he really, really wanted too... 

The hotel room was dark, but his clothes were laying next to his bed, neatly folded up. He put them on and relished in the feeling of high-quality garments that actually fit him. The time at the Dursley's wasn't so long ago that he had forgotten what it felt like to wear the oversized, stained and worn out rags that passed for his clothes back there. It made it all the more easy to enjoy every indulgence his father lavished upon him. 

It didn't take him long to find the fridge and steal some leftovers that he knew was always in there, and enjoy them with a can of coke. He relished in the meal before sneaking back into bed. But he was entirely too excited to fall asleep after the long flight, and the promise of a grand adventure to come.  

He got up and walked outside, following the scented air and the sound of unearthly enchanting music, to find his father and the Host languishing on the pillows by the poolside, enjoying the view of the night sky and eating grapes. The joyful laughter echoed across the grounds. 

He wondered if it was the steams from the hot-springs or some kind of strange magical fairytale things that kept the area out here so hot, when it was almost winter season everywhere else. 

His Father suddenly pointed at the sky it excitement, and those of the Decadent Host that followed him stared up at the sky in amazement and wonder, watching the greenish flashes of light shimmering across the sky. For a second there gleamed in a bright, unnatural purple colour, slithering its way through the greenish lights. Harold thought it was really, really pretty. 

"It is time! The gate is open!" Sigvald declared enthusiastically, as the Host broke out in loud applause and excited whisperings at the news. 

* * *

 

The next day was yet again a rush to pack up and move out, but this time, it was much, much quicker than it had been when they left from London... Harold didn't have to wonder for very long to find out why. 

As it turned out, his father did not live in Reykjavik... He didn't live in Iceland! Harold was slowly beginning to doubt that this place was even on earth at all...  

His father claimed it wasn't the north pole, but the only thing lacking was penguins and polar bears, he thought with dismay, as he clung to the saddle in front of his father to avoid falling off the horse. He wished he knew how to pull the over-sized fur that he was wrapped up in tighter around him, without also falling off the horse.  

The snow was coming down hard. And the harsh wind made it swirl up in their faces, clouding their view and freezing their faces. It was only the intense shades of violent and purple that made the group stand out against the background. Sigvald had allowed his Decadent Host to dress in their own preferred clothes again, and they all had a very peculiar taste in clothing that made Harold understand why they had been made to wear more 'normal' clothes while amongst normal humans. 

If it wasn't for his father's court's love of vivid, gaudy colours, Harold was sure he'd lose them all to the strange, ever-changing landscape as the storm set upon them with a renewed fury. 

He swore that even the mountains moved and shifted, here, in this strange place. Or maybe it was just the storm tricking the eyes. One minute it was there, the next it was gone. Or in a different area. Harold shuddered, this place gave him the creeps. 

* * *

 

After they had left the capital of Iceland, they had headed into the volcanic wilderness that held such haunting beauty.  

What had seemed to him to be the remains of some ancient castle structure had been explained by their guide to be natural stone structures. He called the place Dimmu Borgir - The Black Castles. 

The tour-guide had with mock seriousness told him that some people claimed that one of the deepest ravines there was locally known to be a gate to Hell. He didn't believe in it himself, of course, that was obvious, but his father had mapped out the way from the closest camping spot himself before sending the tour guide away, and that deep, dark ravine was precisely where they were going once night fell and security for the area lessened. 

Harold was wondering to himself if they might not be wrong about Hell...claiming it was all fire lakes and brimstone... Whatever brimstone was... He was more and more convinced that this was Hell. He bit back a whimper as he felt his poor toes turn blue. He was absolutely confident that when he took off his boots, they'd be blue as...as...blueberries! And fall off! He hugged the arm that his father encircled his waist with, more for comfort than to avoid falling off.  

Sigvald noticed his son's discomfort. He could be amazingly perceptive when he wanted too...and there weren't any mirrors around to distract him. 

"Just a little bit further, son. We're very close to the valley of a...friend...of mine." Sigvald said, smiling. How strange and fascinating it was to have someone depend on him. He was giddy with glee over this strange new emotion that was growing in his chest. Was it fatherly pride? Was it caring? Sigvald didn't know and didn't care. He embraced the feeling the way he did every other sensation and revelled in the pleasure it brought him. 

He did, however, consider the fact that he really needed to toughen up his son a bit. It was unbecoming of a Prince to not being able to handle a bit of snow. He had forgotten about how bad it felt to journey through the snow, and he had forgotten the pleasure he subsequently had gained from the same pain, after first accepting his darling lord Slaanesh into his, now, rotten and spoiled heart. 

They climbed down a narrow mountain path, and Sigvald pointed out a patch of green directly below them. It looked like a calm lake, a tranquil haven in the heart of the harsh landscape, with a violet gemstone in its centre. 

"Look, son!" He grinned passionately. "We're here!" He yelled out for the whole party to hear. 

Harold leaned forward, staring at the strange sight that opened up like a tranquil valley beneath them. He couldn't help by smile a happy, if tired smile as his father lifted him off the horse, after having dismounted it himself.  

When he cast a quick glance around, he noticed the whole party was following their example, before they all began their descent down the dangerously narrow path that stretched out in a steep downward slope before them. 

Sigvald grinned broadly as he rushed down the mountainside, as fast as the treacherous landscape allowed. He could hardly wait to introduce his son to his patron, and see the look on both their faces!  

Oh, how delightful it was! The world was yet again filled with first time experiences and wonders! Sigvald shivered in pleasure and rushed forwards, only pausing to tell Oddrún to pick up his son, as his foothold was unsteady, being both young and tired. 

Harold thought he head a horse make a horrible sound of terror as the ground fell out from beneath it, but he was much too tired to care. They kept up the breakneck speed with a surprisingly low amount of casualties, for all that Sigvald seems careless for what happened to the rest of his group. 

It had been a very, very long day. They had gotten up incredibly early in the morning when they first set out, and Harold wasn't even sure if they hadn't walked two whole days in a row, for it sure felt like they had. 

The last thing Harold remembered before being tucked in under a beautiful, warm blanket in a tent he didn't know they even had, was watching the sun setting over the valley, making the green grass shimmer like the waves of a lake in the mild breeze. 

* * *

 

The sun rose over the green, circular lawn of the valley. As Harold creped out of the tent he was in, he discovered that the violet gem he had seen in the middle of it was a cluster of tall, violet pavilions that were now shining in the sunlight. For all that, the snowstorm seemed to rage on high above them on each side, this was a serene place where there was not a cloud in sight. 

A full venerable old hedge surrounded the lawn, bejewelled with rambling roses and sculpted to resemble an undulating serpent. Harold stared at it in wonder, taking in what he had barely noticed last night as he had been carried in through the gate of knotted oak that marked the entrance to the lawn. 

Groans of pleasure resounded all around him as the weary troops awoke to the balmy summer evening, after having escaped the bitter winter storm that surrounded them all the way there. 

Sigvald had somehow awoken earlier than his son and was already waiting for him, basking in the brilliant sunlight as he was having what looked like a wondrous picnic on the lawn in front of the tent they had slept in.  

Harold wondered if his father had been sleeping at all, although there were no signs of weariness on his face, only in a faint glimmer hidden deep within his eyes. 

He found himself calmed by the leaves and the faint music that seemed to come from the vaster tent, and he was suddenly incredibly curious and drawn towards it. 

"Harold. Son. Come have some food." Sigvald said, calling his son over.  

He had already introduced himself to his patron the day before, but the seemingly benevolent Daemon was as gracious as always and understood that the child that had caught Sigvalds attention would need a good nights rest and some cleaning up before it was fit to be in the presence of someone as dignified as himself. 

A young girl with lilac hair that bounced around her like waves at sea, and which floated around her to obscure her face and most of her body, came towards them. Her limbs were long and pale, and there was an eerie beauty to her. Even her voice seemed to ebb and flow like the sea as she spoke. 

"Young Prince... My Lord requested that you'd be bathed and dressed to meet him as soon as you awoke." She gave a graceful courtesy to both Harold and Sigvald. Harold looked worriedly at his father. 

"She's a servant of my Patron, Belus Pül." He smiled and stood up, placing his hands proudly at his son's shoulders. "Remember what I told you?" He asked. 

"Be polite. Belus Pül is a Day...Dai...Daiemon?" Harold tried. 

"Daemon." Sigvald corrected him. 

"Which is like, almost a god, so I need to show respect!" Harold said, happy he remembered it all and basking in the warm glow of Sigvalds approving smile. 

"Excellent son." He smiled and casually pulled the necklace Harold wore the heirloom ring on so it fell outside his shirt. "He's a good Patron, and he's close to Slaanesh. If he offers you his gifts.... be sure to thank him appropriately. If he wants anything in return, remember that your hearts desires will always be worth it." Sigvald swatted away the slight sting of guilt he felt as he spoke. Slaanesh was a wonderful master, and innocence was overrated anyway. He adamantly refused to think about his own past self as it tried to reassert itself. 

He hugged his son, who basked in the warm glow of feeling loved and cared for. Harold promised himself he would do everything in his power to make his daddy proud of him.  

He'd be super-nice and polite to the almost-god person he was going to meet, and make them both happy! And his father had told him about all the beautiful and nice things he'd get if he got this person as his own patron too. It had taken Sigvald the better part of an hour to explain to his son what precisely a 'patron' was. He may have made it sound far more magical and wonderful than it really was. Not that Harold knew that of course. 

Harold only looked back once or twice to get strength from the proud look on his father's face as he was being led by the hand towards one of the smaller tents to be prepared for the meeting with Belus Pül. 

* * *

 

Harold tugged at the edges of the bright purple tunic he was wearing before fumbling with the gold belt that matched the golden lining of his outfit and wondered briefly what the strange runes interweaved in it was. He decided he liked the warm wool-like fabric and the soft leather boots that came with it, no matter how weird the outfit was to someone used to a more modern style of clothes. It was clearly designed for comfort as well as beauty, which made Harold smile. 

He took a deep breath before walking outside to follow the purple-haired woman that was going to show him to her Daemon master. Harold had to admit he was nervous. He also wondered if his family belonging was important or something since the woman smiled when she saw the ring he wore on a chain around his neck and had adjusted it to lay on top of his clothes, rather than hidden underneath. 

Harold gave the ring a tight squeeze for courage and thought of his father. He felt the love and adoration for his father rise up in him stronger than ever before, and he loved the ring so much because of what it represented to him. Right now, that gave him the courage he needed to step forward and pushed open the canvas doors on the most massive tent and stepped inside. 

He found himself surrounded by music and leaves. The pavilion contained an orchard, and the branches of the trees were crowded with hundreds of songbirds, all trilling and warbling as he stepped beneath the fruit-laden boughs. 

He marvelled in awe at the bucolic scene that somehow was contained inside a tent, in a valley surrounded by a fierce blizzard. He let out a joyful laugh as the birds fluttered and trilled before him. Something about this place made him feel happy and elated, in a way that reminded him of his father, although he couldn't quite put his finger on out why that was. 

At the centre of this pretty bower was an ornate wooden bench dangling from the branches of a twisted old juniper tree.  

Swinging gently back and forth on it was a daemon. His luminous pale skin shone in the gentle light, and two small, black horns sprouting from beneath its white hood.  

The plain, white habit it wore, and his hairless head, made a strong impression of a holy monk, rather than a daemon. In its left hand, it carried a single white lily. Its face was such a picture of benign serenity that Harold gasped out before he could catch himself;  

"Beautiful..." He quickly clasped his hand before his mouth and, remembering Sigvald's lessons, he bowed so deeply his hair almost swept the ground, lost in the profound awe of the divine vision and the gentle, yet powerful aura that surrounded the placid-faced, androgynous youth. He did not see the pleased, mirthful smile that graces its divine face at the innocent flattery as the Daemon evaluated the child. 

As he glanced up, he saw the youth beckon him closer. As it watched his approach, the daemon held the flower up to its face and sniffed, closing its eyes and crushing its small, pretty nose into the petals. 

"Harold, son of Sigvald the Magnificent, heir to the Decadent Host." said the daemon, in a soft, melodic voice, turning to another figure that sat a few feet away, "appeared before the exalted Belus Pül for the first time as an innocent, well-mannered child." 

At first glance, Harold would have thought the divine youth was talking to a vast, pale spider.  

The dim light blazing through the lilac walls made it hard to make out anything clearly, but he could see that the thing had dozens of delicate, segmented appendages that trailed out from a small, plump body. It was only as he curiously stepped nearer that Harold realised it was a naked, hairless man with a nest of twitching arms sprouting from his sides.  

Each of his needle-thin limbs ended in a sharpened, inked point, and as the demon spoke, the man wrote on a long roll of parchment. His face was devoid of features, apart from a single hole at its centre, which curled inwards like the auricle of a giant ear.  

Harold stared at the creature in horror, but he quickly composed himself and looked back at the beautiful youth before him, deciding it would be horribly rude to say anything about it. And he did not want to disappoint his Father by being offensive to someone this important! 

But while Harold was too shocked to speak, the daemon was more than happy to talk, at great lengths, as he promised him a life of eternal power and ecstasy, in exchange for a small token of fealty; The family heirloom that Harold was wearing around his neck. 

The more the daemon spoke of the power and the pleasures he would gain, the more Harold attained a look of ferocious hunger in his eyes. He had always been powerless before his father came. And now that he had tasted it....he wanted more. And the pleasures he had savoured....and the ecstasy the daemon described... It was like a deep hunger awoken in the young boy, and he wanted to taste it all! 

Harold looked at the ring. He remembered the day his father had given it to him. 

"I want you to have this ring, as a symbol of this glorious day when you become my son. Take good care of it. Treasure it. There may come a day that you will need it. Keep it safe." 

Harold loved it dearly, it was a symbol of how his life had changed. It was a symbol of the end of his misery and the beginning of his joy. And it was a symbol that connected him to his father. But he had never understood what his father meant by needing it. Until now. 

It was nothing more than a gold ring with a deep red gemstone, a mere trinket. He had at least ten ones like it after their last shopping trip, and it hadn't even magical properties or anything else. Harold had to admit he never quite understood what was so special about this ring, for his father to say what he did. 

It was only now that he looked at the outstretched hand of Belus Pul that he fully understood what his father had meant. And he realised that he had worded it the way he did to make sure it became his most treasured possession...nothing else would satisfy the demon. And if he had known he would lose it, he would never have kept it so dear.  

Even back then, his father was looking out for him and thinking about his future. It made his heart glow with pleasure and make him even more determined to not disappoint him. 

It was hard, but it was the price he had to pay to become like his dad, and he only hesitated for a second, before handing it over, and watched as the daemon placed it on his own hand with a smile. And for a mere second, the daemon's eyes seemed to glow. 

 

* * *

 

Sigvald was the first to notice his son as he walked proudly out of the same doors he had entered with. And while he'd never admit it, he had been a bit nervous...and wasn't that exciting?!...about how the meeting would go. 

But his Patron had been very adamant about meeting Harold alone, which Sigvald supposed could be because he would need to give himself to Slaanesh and the Daemon willingly, without someone pushing him into it. The Gods of Chaos did not have many rules...or any, really... but there was still some strange universal laws at work that Sigvald still wasn't entirely familiar with, for all his studies into the Forbidden Scriptures and Dark Rites. 

As Harold came closer, he noticed instantly that the chain with the ring on was gone, and he let out a great big grin and picked up his son, twirling him around before hugging him. He had accepted the deal! He quickly crushed the tiny little sting of the subconscious...discomfort...in his actions. Slaanesh was a wonderful Master! Why-ever would he even consider this to be a bad thing? His son would thank him for it later. 

"I take it everything went well?! I'm SO proud of you son!" Sigvald said as he placed Harold down and ruffled his hair. Harold basked in the glow of his father's affection and pride, and his chest swelled with warm emotions of a kind he had never felt. Amplified by the blessings of Slaanesh, it brought tears of joy to his eyes, and a fierce determination to do everything in his power to make his father even more proud of him. 

"T..thank you father." Harold chocked out with a burst of joyful laughter, as he hugged him tightly. His life had been turned upside down these last few weeks, and he'd seen such strange things and creatures, but he would not change it for the world! 

"You know son..." Sigvald studied his face, trying to find the best angle to present his cause. "You wanted us to be a true family, didn't you?" 

"Of course!" Harold said, wondering what his father wanted this time. 

"Well... Wouldn't you want to look more like me? I mean... How can anyone know I'm your father if we don't look alike?" Sigvald said, gauging his son's reaction, pleased with the tint of pain in Harold's eyes. 

"I...I want that..." He whispered out, scared that his father might have reconsidered...maybe he didn't want to be his father anymore? The thought was too horrible to even contemplate, and fear grasped his tiny heart. 

"Our wonderful Patron gave me this potion. We just need to add some of my blood to it, and when you drink it, you'll look almost exactly like me!" Sigvald exclaimed happily. What he failed to say is that it would replace the genes of his biological dad with Sigvald's own genes.  

It was a wonderful Daemonic invention, really. And a far step above any of the legal versions of adoption potions. Not that Sigvald knew this, of course. Énka was still reading up on the laws, and he saw no need to inform his Prince of such minor details until it became necessary, they'd only bore him.  

But as a consequence, it would efficiently change Harold's look completely. Or, well... Sigvald had asked his patron to tweak it slightly so that his new son would keep the emerald eyes that he was so obsessed with, and the deep black colour of his hair. Sigvald was nothing if not obsessed with beauty and aesthetics, after all. It was really only the genes for his hair that would be left of the Potter genes after this. 

But he hadn't lied about the effects...much... He just... omitted the fact that he wasn't his biological father. He saw no reason to inform his son about that. At least not until he'd taught him just how little value there was in blood bonds and biological parents. Oh, he was suddenly getting excited to have him meet his wife. Maybe having a son would make her stop complaining so much. All women wanted a child to spoil, right? 

He also casually 'forgot' to mention that he promised him his son's services to the daemon in exchange for this potion. Which made him all the more happy his son had accepted his fate without him having to work on this for months and then returning.  

He would have been very irritated if he had acted the way Oddrún had and insulted him. How foolish... Trading eternal beauty, power and wealth for a monstrous form, just because he got cold feet when he saw his scribe? Sigvald quickly turned his thoughts away from the past. He hated to reminiscent. It reminded him of the innocence he lost, and he couldn't stand it! 

He quickly pulled his sword and focused on the joy he felt over having someone beautiful, other than himself, to gaze at, and all the pleasure he would take in teaching his son about the world, and about all the many joys in it. He shuddered in delight at the thought of it. 

Harold watched as Sigvald used his sword to cut his skin just enough to drip a few drops of blood into the bottle before the magic in his armour closed the wound up. He swirled it around a bit, watching it with fascination as it mixed and started to emit an eerie darkly purple glow. 

"Bottoms up, son!" Sigvald said as he handed the bottle to his son. 

Harold held his breath and put on a brave face as he swallowed down the oily, gooey substance. But even as he emptied it, he gasped out in agonising pleasure before he dropped the bottle and fell to his knees, moaning. "Aaaaah~" It tasted like liquid pleasure... Like the nectar of the gods... And then it began to burn, and Harold whimpered as the burning pleasure and pain rushed through him.  

It was horrible! It was divine! It was ecstasy! 

"Oh, I forgot to tell you... It will knock you out for a few hours. But don't worry, son. I'll take care of you. I'll always take care of you." The last thing he saw before he blacked out was his father smiling down at him with an intense and gleeful look on his face. 

What he didn't see was that the second he was out cold, Sigvald called for Oddrún to take care of him and tell him when he seemed to come too, before allowing two of the daemonic looking androgynous creatures to pull him away, laughing. 

 

* * *

Harold groaned as he woke up, thankful that the light inside the tent was dim. He heard someone rushing out of the tent and shouting, but he was still too groggy to catch what they said. Then he smiled. He'd had the most wonderful dream... He wasn't sure what it had been about, and it felt like he'd been run over by a truck, but there was a voice, sweet like honey and ash, chuckling in his head, just outside of reach. His dream was slipping away. 

"....and even unto the steps of His throne..." Harold muttered as he slowly came too. "...poof..." He blinked a few times, wondering what it was he had been talking about. The dream slipping from his grasp like grains of sand.  

He slowly opened his eyes. The world had changed, yet still stayed the same. 

He stared at his father in awe, as if seeing him for the first time. Had the world always been so bright and beautiful, or was it because of everything that had happened? He looked around him, awestruck at seeing the details in his environment for the first time in his life. Was it a gift from Slaanesh for yesterday?* 

As he looked up again, he saw the smiling face of his father, and his heart flared with a nostalgic longing for someone ethereal he could not remember who was, but that his father reminded him so very much of...  

He shook his head, deciding it didn't matter. His father was here, and he loved him, and that was all that mattered. It made his heart swell with joy to think about how his father apparently had watched over him, and he basked in the pleasure of being loved. It was the first person in his life that actually loved him! He hugged his father tightly. 

"Thank you." He whispered into his chest. It was hard, not soft like the exquisite materials of his clothing suggested, but it was comforting all the same. If Sigvald, in his confusion, hesitated a second before returning the gesture, it was lost in the passionate embrace Sigvald gave his son soon after. 

Whatever was in that potion, it had worked, and Sigvald couldn't stop staring at the beautiful child before him. It was like seeing himself in the mirror...yet different. His skin was flawless, just slightly pale. The hair was straight, black and fell around his face like a raven's wings and his eyes glittered like emeralds.  

It fascinated the narcissistic lover of beauty to no end. 

"Are you ready to go home, son?" Sigvald said with a grin. It never occurred to him that Harold might be exhausted from everything, he merely got the sudden desire to show his son his magnificent home, and take in the expression of his wife as she saw their new son. He was sure she'd be thrilled, just like he was! How could she not, with such a beautiful child? 

* * *

Harold was not happy about leaving this beautiful, lovely, warm place that was filled with so much joy and happiness to him, but he did want to see his new home...and his mother.  

Sigvald had told her how she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on, and they proceeded to tell the heroic story on how he laid waste to a whole city to get her. 

He proudly described the wonderful feeling of slaying his enemies and kidnapping his wife...whom, naturally, fell in love with him at first sight, and it made Harold feel in awe of his father's heroic deeds. He had a nagging suspicion that it was wrong to kill someone, but his father never did anything wrong, and he chalked it up to his aunt and uncle had lied to him...again! 

As he looked around him, he noticed that more people seemed to be riding together, and there were noticeably fewer horses after two days of riding. He wondered a bit about what had happened to the rest of them, but he supposed they must have wandered off or something. He certainly couldn't see very far in this snow, maybe horses had a terrible vision? Could horses use glasses? He asked his father, who merely laughed and patted his head. 

"Don't worry about it, son. They're useful, but not important. We don't normally have horses with us, the weather is too harsh for them, but the man who sold it to me claimed they were sturdier than other horses. They've lasted longer than I expected, I admit." Sigvald said with a grin and patted the small, exhausted Icelandic pony they rode on. 

He looked around and noticed how frozen and exhausted his people were and frowned. Maybe it was time to stop for the night. He'd rather not lose his entertainment after all. And freezing to death was such an annoying way to go... There was neither pleasure nor ecstasy in that. And even less beauty. 

He called the Host to a halt. 

 

* * *

Dumbledore was pacing in his office. He was worried. Incredibly so. Arabella Figs had just spoken to him over the floo, and the news she brought him was incredibly troubling. She had not seen Harry in weeks now, and she was getting worried that something had happened to him. Granted, the Dursley's would often keep him indoors, but not in the summer. He was so often outside, tending to that garden of his... at least he assumed that was his hobby. Why else would a five-year-old child be out there, playing in the dirt all day?  

He quickly pushed away from the nagging thought he got whenever Arabella mentioned all the work he did around the house. He wanted, no needed to believe that Harry was just a happy little boy that was helping out. It was a good thing that he was taught early to do chores.  

Many parents gave their children chores. It was perfectly normal. And healthy! He'd learn to do things on his own. That was always good. He wouldn't get spoiled. Which was important. The hero of the wizarding world couldn't get a big head, it was imperative. He shuddered to think how he would have grown up had he been placed in the wizarding world, spoiled rotten and worshipped like a hero before he could even walk. 

No... This way, he could have a normal life and a normal childhood. And even if they might be a bit hard on him, that would only build character. And if what he feared was correct, the boy would need all the strength he could get. 

He had known when he placed him there that little Harry wouldn't have an easy life. He knew that the muggles wouldn't want him there, and would certainly not spoil him. But they were still family. They'd take care of him. It was absolutely vital that he didn't become spoiled, or have his fame go to his head.  

He shuddered at the thought of having another Lockhart made of him. The man had been all over the news recently with his latest book, and it was evident to anyone with half a brain that the man skated through life on his good looks alone.  

It wouldn't do for the future hero of the Wizarding world to become too pompous. He needed to learn humility. And he needed to determine the value of hard work, as well as befriending muggles... It was the only way he could adequately learn to sympathise with them. And with the Muggle-borns. 

He needed to sympathise with the abused and misunderstood... and the best way to learn that would be to experience it himself. That way, when he came to the wizarding world and gained all the power of his social standing, it would not go to his head. Like it had him. 

Dumbledore smiled a bitter smile as he thought back at his own past. 'Oh, Ariana... I won't fail him like I failed you.' 

Albus too-many-names Dumbledore was not a happy wizard right now. And he kept pacing as he waited for his agent to report back to him about how the situation was, and why little Harry had not been outside as of late...  

He walked over to the Floo. It was time to call in some favours. 

* * *

 

An army of frozen Sigvalds punctuated the darkness, drenching the landscape with pale blue light. Each beaming Prince was nearly twenty feet tall and build of slick, pulsing ice, and each of them was a caricature of the real Prince, with exaggerated features and absurdly powerful muscles. 

As they lifted their arms in welcome, a large number of weary figures shuffled through the snow towards them, throwing down their heavy bags and weapons and collapsing gratefully at their feet. 

Harold was stunned by the magnificent sight of the figures rising up from the ground like magic. And even more by the fact that the icy statues seemed to emit a strange heat. 

As he reached one of the blazing effigies, he let out a weary sigh of pleasure. The ice prince's limbs were radiating unnatural warmth, melting the snow at its feet into a dark, bubbling pool. 

Harold sank to the ground in front of it, curling up on a thick winter-pelt of a bear that his father had made a servant layout for him. He smiled as he felt his father stroking his hair. 

"How far is home?" Harold asked tiredly, curling up in his father's lap. 

"We should reach it tomorrow," Sigvald said, feeling generous after such a successful trip he continued to stroke his son's hair, marvelling at how soft it was to the touch...just like his own. He was getting tired himself, and reached over to the travel-bags the servants had carried and placed next to them, and pulled out more pelts. He didn't entirely trust the exotic materials of the other world to hold up against the cold. And it really wouldn't do for someone of his standing to catch a cold. Or his son, at second thought. 

Harold smiled as his father wrapped them both up in blankets, keeping them nice and warm. It felt so good to his little body, after having been halfway frozen for so long. 

"Father... Tell me about my new mother. Will she like me? What should I say to her?" Harold asked, worried she might not think him good enough, and he already loved her. Even if he only knew her from his father's stories.  

Sigvald laughed and proceeded to tell him about how her great beauty had driven men to such insane acts in an attempt to steal her away from that she had to have her face covered at all times. He told her how fierce her temper could be, and how elegant and cultured she was when she wanted too. 

Harold smiled as his eyes slowly fell shut at the thought of how wonderful his parents and his new life was. No matter how much he had to freeze and walk through the snow, or anything else, it was still leaps and bounds better than his old life. 

He fell asleep in his father's arms, with a happy smile on his little face. 

* * *

 

Harold awoke as the deep darkness of the night gave way to the bleak light of day. It was hard to say exactly what time it was, he had no watch after all...and he was pretty sure nobody else here did either. It was slowly beginning to sink in just how different this strange country was from his old home, much as he didn't really ever think of the Dursley's house as 'home'. 

He yawned and looked around, noticing that the camp was already buzzing with life, if a lot more subdued than they usually were. The same people who had unloaded the horses and laid out the pelts to sleep on the day before was now packing it back up, and a few of the girls were running around, handing out the beef jerky and water that they had lived off the last couple of days. 

The same woman who had attended to him at the hotel rushed over to him the moment he sat up, and helped him get ready for the day, as well as making sure he got the best food they still had. Which included a few candy items that were small enough to bring without many problems, and that wouldn't spoil for the next fifty years or so, considering the number of chemicals in them.  

Not that Harold cared. He was happy just to have food to eat every single day. Although he noticed that he did miss the delicious food he had at the hotel, and the variety of choices. Having the same thing for several days in a row was a bit...dull. 

But he didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he thanked the nice lady, who seemed embarrassed at this, and asked her where his father was. 

"The Geld Prince is talking to his Advisor, your highness." The girl said, handing the young Prince one of the strange, hard candies from the New World. He was such a sweet boy, thanking the servants and everything. Although she doubted that he'd continue with it once he learned what was proper for a Prince, such as him. 

Harold almost thanked her again, but he bit his tongue as he remembered her reaction. He didn't want to embarrass the nice lady, even if he wasn't entirely sure why she got embarrassed. 

She ushered him up and helped him wrap the massive bear pelt onto him, to keep him warm. And made sure the small cap of rabbit fur was tightly fastened onto his head so it would cover his ears and wouldn't fall off. 

Most of the servants were charmed by his unexpected kindness to them, and the Decadent Host was captivated by his beauty, adorable actions, and the fact that he was the child of their beloved Geld Prince. Which lead them to make entirely sure he always had the best they could offer him, whether it was serving him and keeping him safe, or entertaining and flatter him. 

Despite the many servants working hard to get everyone ready, the sun was already high on the sky by the time they finally set off. Not that they could see it behind the veil of clouds and snow.  

Many of the court members were more than a little lazy, and while Sigvald himself was an early riser, if only so he would get the most fun out of the day, the rest of the Decadent Host was a brocaded tapestry of variety and vices. Sloth was definitively shared by more than a few. 

The storm was coming down hard of their strangely joyful group, but by nightfall, it had tapered off somewhat. The wind was blowing as fierce as always, making it appear as if the storm was still going strong, but the moon hung high and bright in the sky. 

The suddenly Harold spotted something strange... 

Far in the distance, beneath the grumbling black belly of the sky, a triangular star had appeared. It had not been visible from the other side of the valley, but now it was unmistakable; a glittering bauble, hung low over cruel, magisterial peaks. 

Harold leaned excitedly forwards in the saddle, wondering what the strange sight could be, as there was not a single other star visible in the vast, darkened sky. He peered out across a vast, frozen lake... hypnotised by the flickering light. 

Sigvald, who had spotted the light too, pointed it out to his people, and they all started to chat excitedly, steering their dying horses after him as he clattered across the ice. 

The strange assembly of people climbed the other side of the valley, and after a while, Harold realised it was not a star at all. He shook his head in wonder as he saw that the light was a beautiful castle, hanging impossibly in the sky. The building flashed and glittered in the moonlight as large banks of snow spiralled around it. It was made entirely of gold. 

Sigvald halted the horses, and placed his hand on Harold's shoulders, and said with a pride-filled voice; 

"Welcome home, son." 

 

* * *

 

_ * Apparently Iceland has a long history of corrupted prime-ministers.  _

_ *At this age (around 6) Harry hasn't been discovered by the school to use glasses, as he only barely have started it. Which is why he doesn't understand what exactly had happened when his vision improved. (As it was apparently an inherited genetic flaw leading to poor eyesight, it would have been fixed when the genes of his father were eradicated and replaced. And Sigvald has a sight like a hawk.)  _

_ I would like to thank Alux, Inspirational Youtube Chanel for Future Billionaires for the info about Iceland's more luxurious aspects... As well as a significant number of other luxury items. (Although I also use different sources, such as a tv show about the Worlds Most Expensive...anything, and A LOT of googling. lol)  _

_ I will also point out that, as far as descriptions of particular places and people go, I've quoted the book Sigvald the Magnificent, albeit twisting the original text to better fit the story.  _

_ It has taken far longer than it should to write this, but I hope you all enjoy reading it. It's quite a bit longer than my usual chapters too, but, ah well... Enjoy~  _

_-Nate_

 


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